


A Light

by bessemerprocess



Category: Fake News RPF, Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US), Real News RPF, The Daily Show RPF, The Rachel Maddow Show RPF
Genre: Drug Use, F/M, sex outside
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-13
Updated: 2009-06-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/pseuds/bessemerprocess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Rachel and pot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle VIII (The Eighth Wonder -- Bigger, Longer, Uncut), prompt: Jon Stewart/Rachel Maddow, weed, porch.

The party is still going on inside. Neutral Milk Hotel is echoing through the shut door, drowning out whatever mischief the people inside are getting up to. And since Rachel had had to physically move Rob and Ed to get out the front door, well, there's a lot of mischief going on.

Jon is already on the porch, laying on the railing looking up at the stars. "Hey," he says, without looking at her. There's a joint in his hand and the smoke curls up into the night sky, completing the picture.

Rachel slides down the railing to sit beneath him, and doesn't move away as he tangles his finger in her hair. Jon passes down the joint wordlessly and Rachel inhales, letting the sweet smoke fill her lungs. She focuses on the feel of Jon's fingers on her head, blunt and tender, and so caring. She associates those hands with safety, and crispy clean paper and the smell of cheap ink: Jon.

They sit there like that for a long time, passing the joint back and forth looking up at the sky. Rachel doesn't ask why Jon was out here by himself, and Jon doesn't offer.

Jon sits up to roll a second and the music changes to something slower and melancholy, but still loud enough to be clearly heard through the door. Whatever it is, Rachel needs to be apart of it, to shake off this contemplative haze that came with the pot, or maybe the beer, and do something.

"Dance with me," she says, and Jon puts the joint in his pocket unsmoked and joins her.

Bare foot, she's taller than him. She wraps an arm around him and they both attempt to lead. They smile, laugh. He leans in, up on tip toes so he can kiss her like she's a shorter woman and she lets him. He tastes like pot and bourbon and Jon, and she decides right there that she's not going to stop this. Run full speed at life, Stephen says, and it's his house, so she does.

Jon is already shirtless, she doesn't know when or where he lost it, but she doesn't care because her hands are already unbuttoning his pants and he's steering them to the porch swing. Trust Stephen to have a porch swing, a porch.

They tumble onto the swing, clumsy against its motion. Jon takes his sweet time, gentle and precise as he unbuttons her shirt, letting his tongue trail over exposed skin. She lets him set the pace. There's something about the look on his face, and Rachel just wants him to smile, or sigh, or anything. She pushes his pants down and lets her fingers play over his cock lightly, enough to make his gasp. From there it's a blur of hands and mouths gone into overdrive. She comes and then he does, and then they are curled together on Stephen's porch swing, sated and half clothed.

After a moment, they uncurl. The porch swing is too uncomfortable to do otherwise. Clothes returned to their proper places, Rachel wipes her hand on Jon's pants.

"Eww," he says and returns the favor.

Rachel smiles and fishes the joint out of his front pocket with a grin. "Got a light?"


End file.
